Dead Chivalry
by trinchardin
Summary: [AU,XO,SlashHet] Nothing like sharing a song and falling in love. [Rocker Arc]
1. Prologue

**Pairings:** Sparrington, Liz/Will, Arthur/Lance, Tristan/Guin, Gawain/Galahad  
**Summary:** Nothing like sharing a song and falling in love.  
**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse & Touchstone.  
**Author's Note:** This follows about a year after the events of _Of Rockstars & Revenge_ and some days after _What Matters Most_ and _Hands_.

* * *

**Prologue**

"Jack? Jack! Where the hell are you!?"

The man in question smiled to himself as he gently brushed at the strings of his precious Pearl. Even from outside, at the cabana, he could hear his agent's unladylike shrieking. Eyes drifted close as he stifled a yawn, fingers still strumming notes to match a hummed tune.

After a few minutes, the shouts stopped.

"Is it too much to hope for that the she-demon hasn't found me?"

The kitten at his side meowed in reply.

Opening one eye, the man was faced with a furious, thin-lipped Anamaria. The expressionless Norrington right behind her didn't seem sympathetic either.

"You're on my side, aren't you, Jackie?"

The feline finished cleaning itself and turning away from Jack, leapt off the hammock to head for the house. Following his pet's departure with mournful eyes, he sighed and looked back at the two people looming over him.

"Yes?" He flashed a charming grin.

"I called a band meeting two hours ago. TWO hours! Of course, our lovely primadonna..."

"I object to that," Jack muttered.

"...did not show up to _grace_ us with his prescence!"

"Shrieking again," he said, still under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, luv." Another wide grin.

"I've had enough of this, Jack. Either you shape up, or I'm quitting."

The man blinked up in surprise.

"You're serious."

"Bloody well am."

She'd do it at that. He sighed and shrugged.

"Fine, where's everyone then?"

Making their way back to the house, they entered the game room. Turner and Lizzy were all cozy at the pool table, while their constant shadows played chess nearby. Gibbs was drinking himself into a stupor as usual, which Anamaria was quick to correct, grabbing his flask on her way in.

"Hey! That's me ru-"

"Later," she snapped.

The stout man subsided, knowing better than to argue with the woman when she was in a mood, something Jack too often placed her in. Upon turning his baleful glare at the guitarist, the man ignored it and settled down on the couch. Norrington hovered behind as usual, like some grim statue.

"So, what's the deal?"

"The deal is that even with your first record at double platinum, you're no where near done with the second release. You need to get a single out soon, and frankly, none of your new songs are up to par."

"Like hell they aren't!"

"Jack," she grated out warningly.

He fell into a sullen silence.

"Lizzy got an idea for our new single," Turner piped up to break the tension. "Tell them, Liz."

The irrepressible girl was all too happy to chime in.

"My cousin Guin is the new vocalist of a Brit band. They're still working on their first album together, and Arthur - he's their manager - wants to do a song with us to help promote the band."

"Wuh? Do a track with a buncha-" Jack started to say.

"I think it's a good idea," Anamaria sharply interjected.

"Are you-"

"We get our single and free promotion in the UK to boot."

Couldn't argue with that. Everyone was looking at him expectantly. Gritting his teeth, he finally assented.

"What the hell, why not?"


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse & Touchstone.

* * *

Jack watched the newcomers under cover of half-lidded eyes. Liz was chatting up her cousin, a dark-haired woman who could pass as her twin if not for the hair. Will was at her hip as always, one hand at a curve and another holding up their shared glass of margarita. To match their shadows, the girl Guin had one of her own. A stoic character with creepy tattooed marks on his cheeks and eyes that seemed to see inside you. Jack's scrutiny had not gone unnoticed and the other man looked right back at him.

At that, the guitarist turned towards the other side of the room. The manager of the band, Arthur, was speaking to Norrington as Anamaria was going through some redtape. A tad too friendly the two men seemed. Jack wondered why that bothered him. The wrinkle on his forehead deepened as he took another sip of rum. A nonchalant, accented voice soon disturbed his musings.

"Can I join you, mate?"

"Room enough for two."

The curly-haired man smirked and sat down beside him on the couch. Years younger than Jack, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that warned the man not to underestimate the other. This was his counterpart in _Dead Chivalry_. Rotten name that, but it wasn't his so Jack let it go. He'd promised Anamaria he'd be good. She'd been playing the pink slip card often enough with him these past few days. 'Twas beginning to grate.

"So, you're Jack Sparrow," his companion drawled.

"That's Captain to you," Jack was quick to correct.

The other man laughed, clearly amused.

"Just Lance for me."

"Charmed." Handshakes were exchanged.

"Well, I've got me effects," Jack continued in deadpan. "Where's ye armor and horsies?"

Another laugh less amused this time.

"Left that in the ol' castle for this jaunt."

"Name not your idea?"

"_Names_, and no. Blame our mothers and as for the band name, that's 'cause of our damn ex-PR rep. Name stuck, and we can't change it now that we're known by it."

"Thought you guys were new?"

"It's our _singer_ who's new."

"Take it you don't like her."

The man just let out a snort and lit up a cigarette.

"Who's the rest?"

"Behind Guin's Tristan. Bodyguard. Same with the man behind Arthur. Dagonet. Beside him is Bors, head roadie. At the bar, that's Gawain and Galahad. Drummer and bassist."

"You guys any good?" Jack asked casually, eyes gleaming mischievously over his drink.

"Better than you," was the cocky reply.

At Jack's laughter, everyone looked their way. Meeting Norrington's eyes, the guitarist just arched an eyebrow and stood up.

"Wanna jam?" He looked down at Lance.

The man looked towards his manager, seemed to consider something, and then got up to join Jack.

"Just lead the way," he said coolly.

Jack spared a second's glance at Arthur, curious. Then, he was picking up his Pearl and out the door with Lance in the next.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse & Touchstone.

* * *

Jack found himself liking Lance as they ran through a few songs together. He'd even go so far as to admit to himself - and himself alone! - a grudging respect for the other man's talent. He sat out one piece which the other had written and composed himself. _Vixerunt_ was the name, one in memoria of friends who'd passed on. Jack nodded his head in appreciation at the last notes. But, before he could comment aloud, the door opened and Arthur stepped in.

Lance scowled and bent his head to go back to his guitar, while Jack noted with interest the glare directed at him. He grinned brightly in return at which Arthur looked at Lance and spoke in a clipped tone.

"You need to sign some papers."

"Isn't that left to Guin now?"

There was much to be read in the flatness of his reply. Jack looked into the bottom of his glass, trying to seem uninterested at the curt exchange. Lance's manager certainly didn't look pleased at having an audience.

"You've still got signing power with contracts, Lance. You know that."

The man suddenly whipped his head about and spat out something in a foreign tongue. _Welsh or Gaelic_, Jack mused to himself. Whatever it was, Arthur understood and though his face didn't change in expression, Jack saw his whitened knuckles and the death grip on the door knob.

"Let's get this done."

Without another word, the man turned on his heel and left. Jack thought it wise to keep silent as his rash companion hit a stack of music sheets, sending them flying. After a moment, Lance sat back in his chair and smiled wanly at him in apology.

"I've got a temper."

Jack just nodded in sympathy, pouring himself and the other some rum.

"At the outs with your manager, aye?"

"You could say that." Lance shrugged.

"Something to do with the bit of fluff singing for you?"

The other man blinked at him in disbelief. Jack smiled.

"No need to say a word. It's always about a woman. Been in this business long enough."

"If you really think I like that harridan-"

"Never said anything about you liking the woman, did I, oh knight in tarnished armor?"

"He's straight," Lance retorted bitterly.

"Aren't they always?" Jack replied with a thin smile, holding up his glass in toast.

He wondered why instead of Bootstrap, Norrington's face came to mind. Smile widening, though still bereft of humor, he swallowed down the rest of his drink.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse & Touchstone.

* * *

While Lance signed the proper papers, Jack lounged against the door jamb. Gibbs had settled down with Bors and Dagonet at the bar, the two stout men competing in a drinking match while the taller figure watched in amusement. Gawain and Galahad, on the other hand, had moved to the terrace. Tufts of light and dark brown peeked out from behind the pool set's aqua upholstery. Across the water, Liz and the boy had stolen Jack's spot on the hammock, fast asleep as Jackie on the blonde's tummy.

It left the cousin flipping through a magazine, lying across a wingback seat, legs swinging over a chair arm. Though completely ignoring the stiff-backed Lance and hovering Arthur at the near table, she seemed to take absent delight in frequently hitting her bodyguard with red-polished toes strapped in Italian leather. The man, in turn, was as unmoving as a statue - and speaking of statues...

Jack turned his head to find Norrington at his side at the opposite door jamb. The other man was within tempting reach. The guitarist swiped idly at the crimson tie. He wondered what would happen if he were to pull the other over with it and kiss him again. Remembering the sweet taste of those lips, he let go and turned away to move into the hallway. As expected, Norrington followed right behind.

And yet, he couldn't seem to look back and steal that much desired second kiss. Even out of the hall and in the privacy of the music room, he just picked up his Pearl and turned that absent kiss into notes. He wondered what it would be like to be receiving, and not taking. Even losing himself in his music, he could feel those dark eyes on him. When had they gone from a nuisance to a necessity?

He felt a flicker of annoyance when Anamaria came into the room, wanting to speak with him.

"How do you expect me to get any work done if you're constantly harrassing me?" He snapped.

An eyebrow arched up in surprise at his unusually short temper. He was more laidback as a rule. Uncaring of what she thought of his outburst, he moved to put the Pearl back in her case, but not before he saw how her eyes darted for a moment in Norrington's direction. The man in question quickly look away in response. Further incensed by this secretive exchange, he angrily clicked the case close and strode out of the room.

He ran into an equally irate Lance. Hearing Arthur calling for the man from other room, Jack smiled thinly in understanding.

"You want out of here?"

"Please," Lance grated.

They wound up on the roof, Jack's personal sanctuary. Not even Norrington knew about it, but the other guitarist looked like he needed such a place and if anything, Jack could sympathize. Climbing out the attic window, they sat back on the peach tiles and looked down at the stark white of the pool deck below, only interrupted by a patch of liquid blue and the emerald expanse beyond.

"Fancy a smoke?"

Jack took the proffered cigarette and the accompanying light. Taking a puff, he leaned back on a blanket snitched from inside and reeking of moth balls. They watched in companionable silence as the sun set before them. The shouts of their names and the vibration of phones went ignored even as night replaced the day. Then, the cigarette pack was empty and Jack thirsted for some rum.

"Fancy a fuck?"

Jack turned at the sound of a voice roughed by smoke and edged with biting nonchalance. When he leaned in for a kiss, he found it to be just as bitter.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse & Touchstone.

* * *

Jack knew the mansion like each curve of his Pearl. He got them back into the music room without anyone noticing. Their heads were bent over song drafts when the door opened. The lack of a bang was more than made up by the storm cloud on Arthur's face.

"Where the hell were you? We've been looking for you for hours. We almost dragged the bloody police into this, and that's publicity you don't want!"

As reserved as the man might be, he clearly had snapped over their disappearing act.

"We were right he-"

"Don't even start."

Arthur drove a fist into the table, causing Jack to lean back in his chair and try to go unnoticed. Eyes darting to the door, he noticed Norrington just outside. His innocent look didn't fly for once, so he turned back to watch the fireworks instead.

"We searched this room three times, Lance. So, don't give me that shit."

"Oh, you actually noticed I was gone?"

Angered, the other guitarist had now switched from innocence to offense.

"What do you think?"

"Well, lately, you've been too busy fucking your pop princess, haven't you?"

Arthur suddenly went white and silent.

"That happened once, Lance. I was signing her up and..." The man bit his lip. "It doesn't change things with the band."

"You, idiot! This isn't about the band!"

The manager blinked in surprise, but he caught Lance's arm before the younger man could storm out again in a rage. Arthur didn't say anything for a long time, conflicted feelings evident on his face.

"I'm your manager."

"You're hers, too."

"It's different..."

"How?" Lance asked wearily, anger spent.

Jack decided then would be an excellent time to slip out. He shut the door behind him and turned to face Norrington. Too late he realized his freshly mauled state. Those piercing eyes which always seemed to catch the slightest detail were now fixed on the bruise at his throat. Damn Lance just had to leave a mark. Jack opened his mouth, but for once, he didn't know what to say.

"Anamaria will want to see you, sir."

The 'sir' part cut. It was always 'Sparrow', or even a mocking 'Captain', not this impersonal... There was no emotion in Norrington's voice, and his face was just unreadable. The other man stepped back for Jack to walk ahead and there was nothing else he could do, but obey.


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse & Touchstone.

* * *

After Anamaria had ripped him a new one, he slipped out for some rum at the bar. Norrington had stayed to speak to the woman, something he hadn't wanted to think about and another reason for the rum. He found most of the others congregated in the game room. Gibbs and Bors must have been useless in the earlier search, passed out on the bar as they were. Dagonet eyed Sparrow as he sashayed around the counter and behind to take out a full bottle of the good stuff. But, other than that, the man said nary a word. _Silent, stoic types seem to go well as a popular bodyguard even across the Atlantic_, Jack snarked to himself.

He left the bar after snitching a glass, and turned to see what the others were watching on the telly - or rather, not watching. A worn-out Gawain managed a half-hearted glower Jack's way. One hand was in a quickly emptying popcorn bowl, and the other buried in their bassist's curls. The latter was stretched out to take most of the couch with his lanky frame, boyish face buried in the other's lap. And where Guin had been earlier, Turner had fallen asleep with a lapful of Liz. Finding nothing interesting in watching Brit sitcom re-runs, Jack ducked out, already on his second glass of rum. He was surprised to find the door of the music room ajar.

Kicking it wide, he found Lance poring over the song drafts again. Nodding at the man as he looked up, Jack perched himself on table edge. Their dirty glasses were still there and he was generous enough to pour the other a shot, which the man immediately downed. Looking around, the room was just as he'd left it. Absently patting his lady's closed case - been worried 'bout leaving her for a moment, he guessed that Lance hadn't gotten lucky after all.

"What happened?"

"We talked."

Lance smiled humorlessly, drawling out the verb like it was a dirty word.

"Didn't go well?"

"Gave me that crap about complicating our working relationship and our-"

He held out his glass and Jack obligingly gave him another splash's worth.

"_Personal _one, too," Lance continued, sarcasm thick. "Man practically raised me, you know. Makes him feel funny to be sodomizing me now. Him and his bloody morals..."

The curly head dropped onto the drafts, fingers fidgeting on empty glass.

"Kissed him though."

"And?"

"Well, he let me."

Lance turned so Jack could see the faintest twist of a smile on his lips.

"That's a start. You've just got to work on him. He'll break in time."

"Thing is, I don't want him broken," the other guitarist said wistfully.

Jack snorted and took another shot.

"Then, you'll have to be patient - which I'm thinking isn't one of your stronger suits."

"He let me," Lance repeated softly, almost to himself. "...He's more than worth the wait."

At that, Jack had to shake his head. Holding up the bottle - why wouldn't his hand hold still, he saw that it was definitely more half-empty than half-full. He frowned. He'd been drinking too much lately, even for him. His patented swagger was getting to be more real than the others realized. Sighing, he capped the bottle with great reluctance, spilling a good portion on the drafts in the process. It earned him an irritated look from Lance, but he was past caring. Then, he felt Norrington's warm, solid form behind him. He let himself go limp, knowing the man would catch him. Gentle, but firm hand on elbow, another where shoulder met neck. He almost purred. Then, he was turning into the other man's arms, burying his face to catch the faint scent of aftershave.

"Put me to bed, James," he said tiredly.

Only when he felt the other's unusually tense frame ease did he let himself relax. As Norrington carefully shifted them towards the door, it was with smug satisfaction that Jack noted the absence of Anamaria's heady perfume on the man. His liquor-logged mind didn't even register the possessive tightening of the arm at his waist or the dark look thrown at an equally oblivious, hastily scribbling Lance. In Jack's world, everything was alright - the hangover could wait 'til tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse & Touchstone.

* * *

It was like a pirate jig in his head, with lots of stomping and shouting. Jack buried his head deeper under the pillow, but there was the rush of cool air as his comforter was pulled away. Squinting in annoyance from under his pillow, he caught a blurred glimpse of Norrington. His bodyguard was unimpressed by his glare and just calmly handed him a bottle of aspirin followed by a tall glass of virgin Bloody Mary. After gulping it down, he resumed his deathgrip on pillow and sheets, but Norrington pulled him up anyway and nudged him towards the bathroom. Still grumbling in protest, he allowed himself to be prodded along.

He dimly remembered clutching onto Norrington's hand as he'd drifted off to sleep the previous night. The man must have slipped away sometime before dawn from the looks of his neat new suit and the fresh, crisp scent of aftershave. Jack was tempted to vomit on the man. But, there were some lines even he didn't dare to cross with Norrington, so he held on 'til the toilet bowl and just let all out. He leaned back into the strong hand massaging his back. Norrington was thoughtful enough to abstain saying any comforting words that would have merely deafened Jack.

He hated hangovers.

In fact, he'd thought he was over that. Lord knows, he hadn't had one since he first hit bigtime. It was something you acquired along the way to stardom. He felt a cool hand on his forehand. Maybe he was sick. Another wave of vomit joined the first in the bowl. He gratefully took the water glass that appeared in his peripheral vision. After downing it like so many shots of vodka, he let himself sprawl down on the cold tiles. Looking blearily up, he could see Norrington crouched over him with a slight frown of concern. Jack considered being sick more often.

"Lance..."

Did he hear a slight note of distaste in Norrington's voice?

"...finished the lyrics. They want to work on the notes now."

"Lovely," Jack muttered. "Can't you just tell them I'm sick?"

"You want to just go back to bed?"

"You coming with me?" Jack leered.

An unreadable look crossed the other's face. Then, Norrington was standing up and looking away, fingers adjusting his cuffs. Carefully studying him, Jack saw the line that wrinkled Norrington's forehead. When the other man spoke again, his voice was carefully complacent.

"Will you be staying in bed or not?"

Jack didn't know how to respond to the sudden tension in the room. Damnit. Sometimes, he really wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"No, I'll go. Need to be professional."

Norrington nodded, then hesitated before speaking again.

"Do you need any help getting into the shower?" He asked.

_Not a word_, Jack hissed to himself.

"I'll be fine," he said aloud, feeling oddly subdued.

The other man must have noticed because he looked back on his way out. Then, he just shook his head and left without another word.

When Jack got downstairs, he found Arthur and Anamaria chatting in the ante-chamber of the music room. Norrington was standing with Groves and Gilette by the window but didn't seem to be taking part in their conversation. The two other bodyguards were seated on the couch - Tristan staring into space and Dagonet flipping through a parenting magazine. Jack didn't want to know. He almost ran into Bors on his way in. The other man was talking on the phone with some woman called Nora. Something about a new baby. Hm. He wondered if Norrington wanted to have kids. Nodding at the man, who'd looked up at his entrance, he crossed the room and entered the next to find chaos. Lance and Guin were engaged in a shouting match, unheard by those outside due to the soundproof walls. Gawain and Galahad were trying to stop their guitarist from lunging for Guin's throat, while the latter's cousin was also attempting to placate her. Gibbs was just enjoying the show, alcohol flask in hand.

Turner popped up at Jack's side as soon as the man came in.

"Do something! _Please_," the youth pleaded, squeezing at his arm.

Head still pounding from his hangover, Jack was all too glad to oblige.

"Shut yar traps. _Now_," he growled.

After having some unknown animal curl up and die in his throat, his tone came out harsher than he'd intended. In any case, it had the desired effect. Lance plunked down on his seat, while Guin backed off and stood with arms crossed at chest. Massaging his forehead, Jack picked up the song sheet on the table and gave it a cursory glance.

"So, what's the problem here, mates?"

"Guin thinks the lyrics suck."

"Is that so, pretty lady?" Jack asked.

"I just said that we can..."

He let her rant as he took a seat and went over the lyrics more thoroughly. It was only after some time that they managed a compromise and got into composing the notes for the song. By the time they got through the first stanza, it was well past noon and people were edgy again. Lance and Guin were sniping at each other, while a sulky Galahad was not responding well to Gawain's attempts to find out what was wrong. Liz had disappeared and Turner looked ready to do the same. It was with great relief that Jack called for a break. He thought he'd pass by the bathroom though before joining the others for late lunch on the terrace. Since the door was unlocked, he didn't think much of anything. That is until he walked right into something he'd rather have avoided.


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Rock slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse Touchstone.

* * *

"You know, there are _bed_rooms for this."

Even stunned, Jack couldn't help but snark.

He looked away and lit up a cigarette, an unecessary gesture since Tristan moved to block his view. Still, never let it be said that Captain Jack Sparrow was rude to a woman. The woman - girl really..._was she even legal_ - straightened her skirt and buttoned her blouse, while her bodyguard looked unbelievably blank-faced. If it wasn't for Guin's flushed and disheveled appearance, Jack would think he'd simply been imagining things and Tristan hadn't had his hands all over the singer just seconds ago.

"Tris, could you give us a few minutes?"

All in order, Guin stepped out from around her bodyguard and looked up at the man with a beseeching look that undoubtedly had her male fans falling over themselves to answer. _Tough luck for them_, Jack thought, amused. Tristan seemed impervious though, and only after a not too subtle push did he leave. Even then, he paused to give Jack a warning look before leaving. After he'd stepped out of earshot, Guin spoke. Smoothing down some ruffles and eyes on the ground, she looked like a highschool girl.

_Actually was_ Jack mused. If he remembered rightly, Liz had said they were just a year apart in age. Caught in flagrante delicto, the young singer had lost her polished confidence. _But, not her fire_, Jack noted when she looked up with defiant eyes. Just like Liz, this girl had a fighter inside the carefully constructed facade. A real Lolita. No wonder she attracted men like Tristan and Arthur. He wondered if she just played each man to get whatever she wanted. It wasn't really any of his concern, but it made him wary and more than happy to have the upper hand in the matter.

"I'd rather you didn't tell anyone about this...little incident."

"Right," Jack drawled. "Well, I really doubt Arthur would care."

She didn't take his words the way he intended though, and he was surprised by her response.

"You don't know him. He's a protective bastard," spoken with grudging respect and fondness even. "He'll go on and on about my sodding reputation, what people will say, and how it'll affect sales. But, he really cares about how it might hurt me. Just me, not the image that's in season right now." A bitter laugh at the last. "His fucking me won't be big news. Some people might even think it standard. But, with Tristan... The tabloids will eat it up. Statutory rape won't look nice on his employment record. The fact that Arthur considers him family makes it even more messed up. It would be hell protecting both of us."

"People are fickle. They only remember until the next scandal."

"But, it would ruin Tristan. His job is his life. Sometimes I think he cares more about the fine details of security than me." A thin-lipped smile. "I'm surprised he even let me hit on him. Anyway, Arthur couldn't let him stay on if he found out. He'd say Tristan had compromised himself. That he wouldn't be able to do the job right. It could be true or maybe not, but either way Tristan would believe it. He's never not listened to Arthur. And that would be it."

Jack stubbed out his cigarette, frowning. He was surprised Guin had said this much. Then again, she had nothing left to lose. She had played the pity card, counting on him to take it. Eyeing her sharply, she looked right back without so much as a flinch. Women like her understood men like him, how to flatter them - and how to get them in the gut. He was smart enough to know she wasn't one to tangle with. Dangerous to have holding a grudge, while excellent to be at one's debt. There was also the fact that she was Liz's cousin.

So, he nodded, making her smile as if she'd known all along he would.

_Dangerous indeed_, he thought. Add Tristan to the mix... Well, Jack didn't even want to consider it.

Clearly satisfied, Guin tip-toed to brush a kiss on his lips before slipping out the door and revealing Norrington on the other side. She went past the other man without a thought, leaving Jack to smile humorlessly.

_Well, well, if the tables haven't been turned_, he thought sourly. Except, he wasn't guilty, damnit.

"Before you start thinking anything, nothing happened," he couldn't help but snap. "Not anymore than with Lance, and him, I just kissed. That's all to it."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me," Norrington said calmly, his face a trained, unreadable mask.

_No, I never used to, but now, it seems I do_.

"I know your reputation, Sparrow. I am the one who changes the sheets - metaphorically speaking at least."

Ah, of course, his bloody reputation. Guin's words rang in his head. She'd showed him why Norrington might hold back, how the bodyguard might fear compromising himself. But then, Jack had forgotten the little detail of his own reputation. Now, what would a man of sterling reputation want with his tarnished one? For once, he was forced to consider another's opinion of him, and he decided it wasn't pretty. But, that was what he was, and unfortunately, he was no Lance or Guin. He was too old to reform.

"I need to use the john, if you don't mind," he said flatly.

Closing the door on Norrington, he looked at himself in the mirror.

He'd always been too late. He just hadn't seen it 'til that moment.


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Rock slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse Touchstone.

* * *

Jack ran a fingertip over the glass rim. He'd had some rum, but not much. The bartender, who was familiar with his favorite customer's habits, hid surprise quite well. He did not offer to refill the glass, and Jack abstained from giving such an order. The group was celebrating the song's completion at the local club. Tomorrow - probably late afternoon to account for hangovers - would be the start of practice.

At one table, Bors and Gibbs were boisterously engaged in yet another drinking contest. With them was Liz on Turner's lap, her fair head thrown back in laughter. No doubt due to some sly quip of her cousin, what with the smirk on Guin's cherry-red lips. Dagonet sat across her, on Bors' other side. He must have been speaking to Gilette in French for nothing else could explain how fast the redhead's lips moved. He only got so passionate or spoke so fluidly when conversing in his mother tongue. Groves for his part seemed amused and occupied himself with a smoke, if not occasionally joining a conversation with Gawain and an increasingly inebriated Galahad. Not quite within the circle, Tristan lounged in a dark corner behind Guin. His eyes kept a lazy watch on the room, flitting back to his charge every now and again. Next to him was a more private booth. There, Arthur and Anamaria looked to be deep in business talk judging from Lance's bored expression.

The guitarist in question made a face when he noticed Jack look his way. Then, his eyes caught a mischievous glint. He winked and slid out of the booth to accost Guin. The girl warily tilted her head up in acknowledgment, while he leaned in to whisper. A finely shaped eyebrow shot up at whatever he'd said, then a saucy smile. In the next moment, they were in the middle of the dance floor, on center stage and loving it.

_Attention-whores_. Jack snorted in amusement.

No doubt, this was some warped attempt of Lance to make peace with Guin at the same time provoke a reaction from Arthur. Guin appeared to have guessed it, seeing how Lance flushed as her lips brushed the shell of his ear. Her words turned him crimson faster than the shots of alchol he'd taken earlier. Still, he looked more bemused than defensive as he spun her on the floor. Jack wondered what game Guin was playing, because Arthur wasn't the only one who suddenly had his eyes riveted on the dancing couple.

Shaking his head, Jack turned his attention back to glass. It hadn't filled in the short span of inattention. And Norrington was still staring at him.

Unable to stand it a second more, he kept an eye open for the right moment, then slipped through a sudden rush of people. He ducked into the john and used a urinal. As he zipped up, he heard a familiar whistle, tensed, then quicked his pace. Hands under the open faucet, he didn't need to look up to know who stepped out of one of the cubicles.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't, Captain, me Captain."

Boots clicked to a stop at the sink beside his.

"How are you? Doing well if I've heard right."

Jack really didn't want to handle this now, but Fate was a fickle bitch and he seemed out of favor at the moment.

"Never knew you cared," he casually remarked.

"Oh, I always have." The warm breath on his face reeked of alcohol as his personal space was suddenly diminished.

It took alot to keep his body lax, and even more not to move away.

"Yet, you took my Pearl...killed Bootstrap."

Amazing how he kept his voice even, though his hands ripped through paper towels.

"_Bootstrap_?" The other's voice was laced with unconcealed anger and disgust.

"He was a good man," Jack said flatly.

"Oh, yes." Agreement tainted with sarcasm. "So _good_, so _noble_ in comparison to poor ol' me. A _saint_, by all rights." The honeyed voice abruptly turned sour, causing Jack's hands to twitch. "Well then, why did St. Bootstrap say nary a word when you left? What sort of friend cannot stand for you in your dire moment of need? Was that not true betrayal for you? Et tu, Brute?"

"He was thinking of his family."

"Good God, do you _really_ believe that? The family he abandoned for fame and fortune? The bastard was saving his own skin! He was shouting my praises when he went over, trying to save himself!"

"That's a lie!" For the first time, he turned to face Barbossa.

"His wife may have been an angel, but he was a lying snake. You think, I didn't know how he'd string you along with all his supposed _goodness_? Think of it. Did he ever do anything for you?"

Jack paled, hands clenched in fists, but unable to speak in reply.

"Who brought you drunken, drugged-out self home?" The other continued, voice raised. "Who kept the band together and made sure things went right? _Me_. ...But, you never noticed. I took the Pearl away, so you'd _see_ me.

"You did, alright." A humorless laugh. "Just not the way I wanted you to."

Barbossa's voice abruptly dropped in volume, yet his words lingered with resignation.

"It was always about you, and by extension, your precious Pearl. You narcissistic bastard." Barbossa shoke his head and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. "Just because he flattered you, while I did everything else...just because..."

"Step away from him, Barbossa."

The two of them looked up in surprise as the door snapped shut behind Norrington. His eyes immediately went to Jack, though keeping Barbossa in the periphery. The latter let out a wild laugh.

"I was just on my way out," he said, after he'd calmed down.

He stepped back from Jack with a parting salute of his cigarette-wielding hand, then walked towards the door. Yet, he stopped by Norrington and placing the same hand on the other's shoulder, he whispered something that caused the other to almost imperceptibly flinch. Jack tensed at that. Then, Barbossa turned back to look at him with bitter, mocking eyes. At Jack's glare though, the manic joy in his eyes suddenly shuttered away.

The sharp click of his boots on tiles, then they were alone.


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Rock slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse Touchstone.

* * *

Jack carelessly tossed the used paper towels into the trash. He stared at the moldy, chipped tiles of the floor, rather than look at Norrington. Only at the slight pain in his palms did he realize his hands were clenched, black-painted nails cutting into the unprotected flesh. The rush of protectiveness he'd felt at seeing Barbossa near Norrington could not compare to that when he saw the other man flinch. The strange, unfamiliar feeling rankled at him and he didn't know what to say or do. Being caught off-guard and more than a little vulnerable, he lashed back at the source.

"I could've handled that," he snapped.

The fact that Norrington didn't rise to the bait helped little. The man just kept silent as Jack pushed past him and through the door. Quickening his pace, he ignored how the other called his name, though he did shiver at the grazing touch of fingertips at his wrist. They held only for a moment before Jack was in the thick of the crowd. Yet, his tri-corner hat acted like a flaming beacon, and Norrington finally caught him as he went out the side door and into a dark alley. With a murderous look in his eyes, Norrington took hold of an arm and turned Jack so they faced each other.

"You're supposed to wait for me," he sharply reproved.

"And you're not supposed to lose me," was the retort.

A pained look flickered so fast in the other's eyes that Jack wasn't sure if he'd even seen it. He looked away again. _Coward_, he taunted himself.

Then, Norrington tensed and at the rattle of upset trash, had his gun drawn and ready.

A black cat washed itself, calmly looking at them before it leapt down from its perch and padded away on silent feet. Jack let out a low, harsh laugh.

"Nice one, 007."

Norrington didn't respond again.

"What sort of gun is that?" Jack persisted.

"It's a Desert Eagle."

The guitarist smirked.

_Progress_.

"Can I have a look-see?"

Before the other could react, Jack nicked the man's gun, grinning madly as he did. At the other's scowl and outstretched hand, he just danced nimbly away and started to head towards the parking lot. Still examining the gun, he poked at the trigger, which made Norrington hiss.

"Watch it! That's not a toy."

"Oh, but it is," Jack said cheekily. "It's yours, and you want it back. Well, you'll have to ask nicely."

"Give it back to me, Sparrow."

"Now, that wasn't being nice." He smirked.

"Sparrow..." A warning note in the voice.

They'd reached the parking lot by then. It was darker than before. One of the two lamps had died. Norrington looked away from Jack for a moment to frown at the light. It had been working fine earlier. Then, the man turned back to Jack, a look of unconcealed annoyance on his face.

"Hand it over, Sparrow."

"Say please." A cherub's smile.

Norrington's lips pursed.

"Or what about a kiss for it?"

Jack leaned closer, breaking the distance. Surprised, a flushed Norrington stepped back. At the crunch of glass beneath his feet, the man looked down. A flash of metal on the ground caught Jack's attention. Norrington had seen it as well and sooner recognized the casing for what it was. Suddenly tense, he moved to take back his gun. His fingers grazed the guitarist's wrist a second time as his hand fell away to the sound of a loud report that shattered the silence. Norrington's eyes looked into his with something akin to regret, then Jack was gasping at the sudden heavy weight resting on him.

"Jamie..." He whispered.

He tried to support the other with his free hand, holding the other close in mock embrace.

"Jamie...please...no..."

"He couldn't have you," a voice rasped, cutting through Jack's daze. "You're mine. _Mine_."

Barbossa stepped out of the shadows, coming around the car he'd been hiding behind.

"It's just too bad. Now, _he_ was a good man." The man's voice rose with hysteria. "But, he couldn't understand, even at the start. I warned him! It's never just business. Not with you. He shouldn't have come too close. But, he didn't listen.

"So, he's dead. And it's just you and me again. You're mine, Jackie boy. When will you learn-"

The guitarist hadn't even realized he'd raised his arm until the second report. Barbossa looked blankly at him for a moment. Then, his eyes drifted down to his chest, a hand clenched over the blossoming red.

"When will you learn," he finished, smiling lips dark crimson, "that you'll never be rid of me?"

Jack watched emotionlessly as the man collapsed onto cold concrete. The gun was a warm weight in his hand, and Jamie's skin was cool to his lips.


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: Rock slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse Touchstone.

* * *

That was the part where Jamie didn't wake up, and Jack did, choking on his screams and tasting copper.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he sat up in bed. The soft, pliant body beside him started to stir, so he slipped out and threw on some clothes. Finding his cigarettes on the way out, he lit one and took a deep breath. The nightmares always ended that way. Try as he might, neither drugs, drink, nor meaningless sex kept them away. He laughed bitterly. It was his subconscious telling him that either way Jamie was leaving him, like how right now he was standing in an empty hall. He'd stopped sleeping in his room. Rather than be alone, he'd stayed with whoever he'd randomly chosen for the night. Even the Pearl was cold comfort these days.

He could thank the miracle of Kevlar for Jamie's quick recovery. The man had taken over the situation, settling down shell-shocked Jack and handling the badges that night. But, Jamie was still leaving him. He'd given Anamaria two weeks notice, claiming he wasn't fit for duty anymore. Jack hadn't even known until he'd found the plane ticket by chance. They had a fight then, if you could call his shouting and Jamie's cool rebuttals a fight. After that, Jack had thrown himself into his work in a way that would've normally made Anamaria proud. As it was, she was telling him to stop boozing up and sleeping around in his free time. But, Jack couldn't stop.

Jamie must've found out that Jack cared, and now he was running for the hills. _Alone again_.

Taking another drag, Jack started for the stairs. He needed a drink, needed to forget. Thinking about it, this was Arthur's fault, too. The damn prick had offered Jamie some cushy desk job at a security firm in merry ol' London. It was as if Jamie couldn't get far away from him. If it wasn't for Lance, Jack would've liked to get at Arthur. Actually, damn Lance, too. He was slowly drawing in his man, all under the nice cover that sly Guin had set up. She'd arranged for them to be caught together in a compromising position - making out at some supposed lunch date. Now, they were each other's celebrity-acceptable beards, and they could screw who they really wanted in private.

Yes, everyone was happy except poor Jack. He might as well be marooned on some fuckin' island.

Carelessly stubbing the cigarette butt in a potted palm, he made for the bar. But, on his way there, he saw the kitchen lights open and hearing familiar voices, he stopped before the doorway.

"-really think that leaving's going to help?"

"It'll get me away from him."

Jack winced at the deadpan voice and started to move away.

"But, it won't change things."

"And how would staying be any different?"

"...He cares about you."

The guitarist froze where he was. That damn bitch Anamaria.

"Yes," sarcasm thick. "So much he's screwing someone upstairs."

"You didn't care before."

"Just 'cause I never said anything didn't mean I didn't care."

"So, why's it different now?"

"Because he knows." Pain seeped into the words. "He knows now."

"How sure are-"

"He's brought in a number of women and boys every night since then. Like I don't get it already."

A harsh laugh.

"He doesn't care," the man continued. "And I won't stay to have his lifestyle thrown in my face."

"You don't know that. Didn't you fight when he found the ticket?"

"Oh, he wants me to stay I'm sure. But only 'cause he likes constants. He's gotten used to my picking up after him."

"Jam-"

"Don't start, Ana. I'm leaving." Weary and resigned. "Maybe I'd have stayed if..."

"If?"

Jack held his breath.

"If only he didn't seem hell bent on destroying himself. That's it really. I'm a masochist, but even I can't stay and watch while he drinks and drugs himself to death."

"He's always been that way."

"It's worse. Didn't you notice his hands have started shaking? When will it get to the point that he can't play? It'll kill him. And I don't want to be there for that."

Anamaria started when she saw Jack move into the doorway. Watching Jamie's back tense, he looked to Anamaria. Nodding, she started to leave but not without throwing him a dark look as if to warn him: _Don't fuck this up_. Jack had no such intention. He entered the kitchen and stopped to stand beside Jamie at the kitchen island. Not looking at the other, he fidgeted with his lighter. ...Jamie's actually. He'd nicked it. After a moment, he slid the lighter over the marble to place it before Jamie.

"I'll stop smoking...easing on the rum might be harder."

"Jack-"

"First time, you've called me by my name." Jack smiled.

"...Jack...I can't do this. Look what happened with Barbossa. ...I can't protect you."

The guitarist flattened his palms on the counter. They were shaking.

"Jamie...you're the only one who can. You don't need to actually guard me...just stay."

The other man clenched his hands, and Jack put one of his over the other.

"Thought you knew I cared," he continued, soft and uncertain. "Thought you were running from me. ...Used the others to forget - isn't working."

Jamie choked back a humorless laugh.

"This won't be easy," the man said.

"'s long as you're with me."

The other looked at him for the first time since they'd started the conversation.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Jamie's lips were sweet as ever.


	12. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** Rock slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse Touchstone.

* * *

Jack hummed softly to himself as he dropped his keys on the foyer table. After laying his lady gently on the bench across, he tossed his coat and hat onto the wooden stand without consideration. Popping into the kitchen, he took a shot from the single bottle of rum in clear sight on the counter. _The better to keep track of your intake_, Anamaria loved to snark. Still humming, Jack stepped into the quiet of the study, where his intended target sat at the desk.

A hand reached up to brush his nape as he bent down and rested his own hands on the other's shoulders. He dropped a trail of kisses on the other's neck as far as the unbuttoned collar would allow. The sudden tightening of the hand already on him was the only warning he got before the other one grazed his cheek to angle his head for a kiss that left him breathless. Even after he'd been released, he left his head on the shoulder and hummed louder. He saw his lover's smirk from under half-lidded eyes.

"Bastard," punctuated with a kiss.

Jamie simply snorted in amusement.

"Nice flight?"

"Think the stewardess was flirting with me."

"Really now."

"Mm-hm. Saucy minx felt me up. Was shocked."

An eyebrow arched.

"I seriously doubt much could shock you."

At the other's wry look, Jack broke into a grin.

"How're the others?" His lover continued to ask.

"The usual," was the absent reply.

The guitarist crawled onto the other's lap and fidgeted with the striped tie.

"I'm supposed to be working."

The distracted tone and arms around Jack's waist contradicted the man's words.

"You work too much. It's a Saturday, you know."

"It distracts me from thinking of you."

"Like that's a bad thing?" Jack nibbled an ear.

A startled gasp and tightening hold.

"It is when you're gone."

"Missed me?"

"Too much."

It had been a year since Jamie had left for London. He worked there now, living in a flat shared with Jack. It was the perfect get-away whenever the latter's hectic lifestyle got too much. Already working on their third album, _Ocean-Thief_ was breaking into the international scene. The previous single with the Brit _Dead Chivalry _had helped in that. Now, fame hounded the band. It wasn't so bad yet that Jack couldn't fly into England unnoticed - fortunate since he was there most of the time. He and Jamie had decided it was better to escape the temptations of sunny, celebrity California. Starting fresh abroad was also a way of leaving behind the ghosts of Boostrap and Barbossa. So, Jack just flew back to work on occasion, but these days London was starting to be more of home - maybe 'cause Jamie was there.

Leaning into the warmth, he thought of how domestic he'd become and had to smile.

"What're you thinking about?"

The whisper tickled at his ear, making him shiver and move even closer to the other.

"Home."


End file.
